


wonderstruck

by santiagone



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Apartment AU, F/M, Gen, Meet-Cute, and, honestly this is just a hybrid of, so basically 20 different tropes mixed into one, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: As Jughead heads down to the shared apartment laundromat to collect his clothes, he fully expects to spend the remainder of his evening working on overdue papers, procrastinating with video games, and snacking himself into bankruptcy. What he doesn't expect, though, is this:A girl—undeniably pretty even from his distance—perching quaintly on top of a rumbling washing machine, scribbling down in a notebook, chewing at her bottom (admittedly very pink) lip. She's dressed in a sweater several sizes too big for her, and sweatpants that are rolled up adora—accusinglyat the ankles.“You're in my clothes,” he says after a moment, so stunned that his eyebrows almost creep up into his hat.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> what with my repertoire of cliche tropes, i thought, why not add the ultimate cliches to the list?? and thus, here we are. please enjoy!

_ The night is sparkling, don't you let it go _

_ I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home _

_ I'll spend forever, wondering if you knew _

_ It was enchanting to meet you _

 

.

.

.

 

By all accounts, it's supposed to be a normal day. Jughead wakes up at his normal time (read: late), attends all of his classes (at least, the ones he deems are actually critical to his degree), and consumes an exorbitant amount of food that would even horrify Jellybean (who was the only person  _ ever _ to rival his eating habits). 

As Jughead heads down to the shared apartment laundromat to collect his clothes, he fully expects to spend the remainder of his evening working on overdue papers, procrastinating with video games, and snacking himself into bankruptcy. What he  _ doesn't _ expect, though, is this: 

A girl—undeniably pretty even from his distance—perching quaintly on top of a rumbling washing machine, scribbling down in a notebook, chewing at her bottom (admittedly very pink) lip. She's dressed in a sweater several sizes too big for her, and sweatpants that are rolled up adora— _ accusingly _ at the ankles. 

“You're in my clothes,” he says after a moment, so stunned that his eyebrows almost creep up into his hat. 

The girl jumps, eyes wide, notebook falling from her fingertips and clattering to the floor. 

“What? No.  _ What _ ?” 

Jughead eyes the familiar dark sweatpants, and even darker woollen sweater. Decidedly  _ Jughead _ colours. Definitely his. 

“Those are mine. Uh, my clothes.” 

The girl frowns at him. “They can't be. Veronica said that I could borrow her boyfriend's clothes, and she mentioned  _ exactly _ this machine.” She scrutinises him for a minute, head tilting. “You are most definitely not Veronica's boyfriend.”

“Definitely not,” he agrees, although the name Veronica sticks in his mind,  _ jars _ a little something…  _ Veronica Lodge _ , Jughead remembers. Archie’s latest line of girlfriends, this one entirely both too pretentious and just the right shade of classy. They often talked about her friend, too, someone blonde and deeply into baking and journalism. Betsy, or…

“Betty Cooper,” he says finally. “From apartment 4B. My roommate’s girlfriend's roommate.”

Betty blinks. “ _ You’re _ Archie’s roommate?”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. Evidently, Veronica and Archie are seasoned gossipers. “Pleased to meet you too,” he says dryly, and something in him is a little pleased when she flushes from tip to toe.

“I didn't mean it like that,” is all she says, which leads him to wonder what she  _ did _ mean it by. Then  _ that _ train of thought has him thinking that maybe Veronica’s constant attempts to set him up with the elusive Elizabeth Cooper might have been directed at the other party as well. 

“Right,” he says, fixing his gaze on her shirt purposefully. It's after a moment that he realises that men are pigs, and she might think of him as looking at something  _ else _ . He averts his gaze instantly. (He's definitely not blushing.) 

Betty—blonde by appearance, although apparently not by nature—seems to get the point. She leaps off the washing machine, hands clutched into worried balls in the sleeves of her (his) sweater. 

“Sorry. I'm not a thief, and I don't do this  _ normally _ .” 

“I'd be worried if you did,” he quips, which seems to loosen her fists, just a little bit. 

“You’re going to laugh when I tell you the story,” she says, folding her arms defensively. 

Jughead bites back a small grin—which is weird, because he's a brooder. Smiling is essentially the same as hurting his street cred. 

“I feel like we’re  _ kind of _ a little beyond that stage.” 

Betty huffs, an action that would warp anybody else’s features, but somehow just manages to highlight the sort of person she is instead. Genuine, all-American. A girl raised right, a character straight out of  _ Little Woman _ . 

“I was  _ supposed _ to be down at Rockland County visiting my sister, but the twins got chicken pox last minute so she cancelled on me. Which is fine, obviously, but as it turns out Veronica took her boyfriend to some fancy event and she took  _ my _ set of keys because she'd lost hers. I was just going to wait downstairs until she came home, but it was raining really hard outside and I was soaked, and Veronica kept insisting that I would get sick if I stayed like that—which I really can't afford—so she said I could borrow Archie's clothes from the third washing machine along the left. Evidently, it wasn't his washing machine.” 

Betty lets out an apologetic grimace, and strangely, Jughead feels his lips fighting to twitch upwards at her rambling spiel.

“Luck doesn't favour you much, does it?” 

She exhales, blowing a strange strand of hair away from her eyes. “You have no idea.” 

“Well, Veronica got the washing machine right, at least,” Jughead offers. “Archie and I are creatures of habit. We use the same one, just on alternating days. Besides, if you kick this one just right, it spits your money back out.” 

“God,” she groans, eyes squeezing shut. “So I really  _ am _ wearing your clothes.” 

“Did you  _ really _ think Archie’s palette of style ranged in so many shades of grey?” 

“I thought maybe he had a dark side,” Betty defends. He snorts in spite of himself, and Betty toys with the hem of her (his) sweater. “I’m  _ really _ sorry. Do you want this back? I can change back into my clothes.

He eyes the soggy, muddy mess of pastel pinks and blues on top of the washing machine, then reaches a hand out impulsively to stop her from grabbing them. 

“It's fine. I don't want to be responsible to condemning someone to a year of sickness,” he says lightly. Her arms are deceptively small underneath his clothes.  

“Very funny,” she says, but she's smiling gratefully at him. “Thank you, Jughead.” (It startles him a little to hear her say his name for the first time.) “I’ll wash them and get them back to you as soon as Veronica gets home.”

“When  _ are _ Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie getting back?” he asks curiously. 

“Um… about ten or eleven, I think?” 

Jughead frowns. “That's six hours away. Are you just going to stay here for six hours?”

Betty looks a little embarrassed, then, shoulders lifting in a light shrug. “I don't really know anyone here. All my acquaintances are made through Veronica.”

“Small town girl in a big, bustling city?” he guesses. 

She glances down at herself. “Is it really that obvious?”

“No,” he says, smirking, “I just have a fascination with clichés.”

“You’ll love me, then. I'm full of clichés.” Betty smiles at him, and later he’ll blame that smile for his impulsive decision, for his sudden deviation from the normal personality of an introvert like Jughead Jones. 

“You can wait in my apartment, if you want,” he's offering before his brain catches up to him. “You know Archie, so I'm not a stranger, and we’re on the same floor. There's a warm shower, you’re already wearing my clothes, and you can just… watch a movie, or something.”

She's still smiling at him. “You don't have to sell it to me, Jughead. But are you sure?” 

“One hundred percent.” But to cover it up, he adds, “Also, I’m afraid of the wrath Veronica might inflict if she finds out I've left you here alone.”

Betty laughs, and he stoops to pick up the laundry basket and hand her back her fallen diary. 

“What do you say?” 

“It depends on your film selection,” she says coyly, which he knows means  _ yes, thank you _ . 

He grins at her. “Lucky for you, I'm a film noir buff.”

 

.

.

.

 

“Your apartment is exactly how I imagined it to be,” says Betty upon stepping through the door he opens for her. 

He smothers a smile and chucks his laundry in a pile on the sofa. “And here I thought I was defying all stereotypes.”

Betty rolls her eyes and glances at the pile of laundry pointedly. “Case in point. I don't know… the movie posters on the wall, the half-washed dishes, the abandoned playstation… If I opened the fridge, would I find boxes of takeaways?”

“You'd be buried in them,” Jughead informs her, and Betty laughs, a sound that fills up their messy apartment and seems to considerably brighten it, however impossible that seems. 

“It just seems like you and Archie, that's all.”

“What are you, a detective? Should I ring Nancy Drew to inform her I've found her long lost sister?”

Another laugh, which makes him weirdly pleased.

“Journalist,” she corrects. “But I do idolise Nancy Drew.”

She shrugs, and takes to examining the apartment while Jughead points out the TV remotes and heads to the kitchen to fetch a bag of crisps. When he returns, Betty is smiling at a picture of him and Archie in a blue cap and gown, arms thrown around a smaller girl with a pink streak in her hair.

“My little sister, Jellybean,” he tells her. “That was the day we graduated high school.”

“She's cute,” says Betty, which instantly earns her brownie points. “And… I'm guessing the guitar in the corner is Archie's?”

“He's a fledgling artist. Or at least, trying to be,” Jughead says. Not rudely, but stating the facts as they are. He throws himself down on the couch and holds out the bag of crisps for Betty, who settles tentatively onto the couch next to him, slender hand reaching in for a handful of crisps. 

“I’m prepared for a mockery of my Netflix suggestions,” he says, and she raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Jones.”

Quickly, they settle on watching (or rewatching, in Betty’s case)  _ Stranger Things. _ It's a little strange, how quickly they settle on a show, when he is used to several runs of trial and error when watching with Archie, but Betty seems so personally offended that he's never seen the show that he has to laugh and let her have reign of the remote. 

 

.

.

.

 

Jughead’s not aware how much time has passed until his stomach gives a painful growl. Betty glances over with a knowing smile.

“Boys,” she teases.

“We prefer men,” he corrects, and that laugh pays another visit. He considers her for a moment, with her knuckles covered by sweater sleeves, and hair escaping out of her ponytail. “Do you want to get something to eat?” 

Betty glances down at her attire, cheeks flushing just the slightest, mouth parting a little. “I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion.” 

“I meant we could order takeout,” he suggests, feeling a crease appear between his eyebrows. What else would he have suggested? A  _ date _ ? His ears go a little pink at the thought. He tugs his beanie down lower to hide them. “Your pick.”

“Oh! Veronica and I found a stunning little place the other day. How do you feel about Thai?” 

“Generally positive,” he agrees, although that  _ is _ his association with most food. He brings out at his laptop at Betty's direction, and focuses very firmly on the screen when Betty moves across the couch and peers over his shoulder to navigate him to the website. She smells like vanilla and petrichor. (It's the writer in him that notices, obviously. Nothing else.) 

“That one,” she says triumphantly. “Order whatever you want. Is it okay if I use your shower?” 

“Sure,” he says, already invested in the selection of meals. “Down the hall, to your right.”

It's not until she's gone that he realises how easy it had felt for him to direct her; like she'd already slotted into his home life.

It's a weird feeling, but not entirely  _ uncomfortable _ . Just strange. Different. He smiles down at his laptop.

 

.

.

.

 

The food arrives just as Betty appears, hair down and slightly damp, like a golden net hovering around her shoulders. She's still wearing his clothes, and she reaches over and turns the TV volume down before helping him to unpack the food. 

“So, Betty Cooper. I've practically let a stranger into my house,” he says, digging in. 

“Not strangers. We have mutual friends,” she points out, waving her chopsticks at him. 

He squints. “Does Veronica  _ really _ count as my friend?” 

“Does she repeatedly try to set you up with people?” Betty asks, eyebrows raised.

_ Yes _ , he thinks,  _ you _ . He shoves pad thai in his mouth and nods instead. 

“Then she's your friend,” she says. “And Archie's really nice, too. Completely in love with Veronica, which is nothing new, but it would be great if I didn't have to hear it all the time. Specifically, at one in the morning. Through very thin walls.” They share a grimace. “Anyway, why haven't we met before now?”

Jughead shrugs. “I’m not  _ exactly _ what one would call an extroverted soul. Actually, most might know me as an insensitive ass. Or maybe in the sequel story, brooding biker.”

“You have a bike?” Betty asks curiously, pushing her food around. 

“Had. I sold it to help save for Jellybean's college fund next year.” He doesn't say it, but there's unspoken words there. Betty's already shown a quiet shrewdness and ability to pick things apart. He can only hope she won't press details about why a struggling college kid is pawning off objects to help his little sister get out of a watery backside town.

“That's a shame,” she says, still full of warmth, much to his relief. “I’ve never ridden one.”

“It's probably for the best. It wasn't exactly helping my 'nice guy’ reputation,” he says dryly. 

“You  _ are _ a nice guy,” Betty says with a sort of steadiness that surprises him. “You offered a damsel a place to stay.”

He smiles crookedly at her. “Only because I was afraid you might steal my clothes.”

She laughs and pokes him in the arm. “See what I mean? Good guy material. Trust me, I would know.” There's a hidden story there,a certain bite to her tone that shouldn't belong on a sweet tongue like Betty's, but there are stories for other times. He passes her a carton of Thai food instead. 

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly his fingers itch for the familiar keys of his laptop. He knows that feeling. He wants to write about her. It happens, occasionally,  _ rarely _ . He’ll meet someone who's so intriguing that he can't help incorporating them into his book. He’d done it with Archie, whose perpetual golden retriever qualities and simultaneous playboy attitude had made an interesting case study, and for his ex-girlfriend Sabrina, who always seemed to know how things would happen several days before they actually did. And now, Betty, whose seemingly perfect exterior leads to flaws in the system, but more interestingly, her uncanny ability to coax Jughead out of his emotional prison cell. 

“Hey,” he starts, but Betty's hand flies out and lands on his arm, effectively silencing him.

“Wait! This is the good part,” she says, as on screen the kids dash for an abandoned yellow school bus.

He chuckles involuntarily. “Haven't you seen this before?”

“Twice, but that doesn't change the suspense, Jughead. The  _ suspense _ . Turn it up, please?”

He hands over the remote with a roll of her eyes, she passes her unfinished cartoon of food for him to finish, and he thinks that maybe having a few of his favourite clothes stolen isn't such a bad thing  _ after _ all. 

 

.

.

.

 

There's a bang at the door later, just as they're in the thick of arguing which iconic film noir piece is more deserving of its praise (she says  _ Casablanca _ , he fights for  _ Double Indemnity _ ) and Betty just about jumps out of her skin at the sound. 

“Jug!” calls Archie’s unmistakable voice, paired with the jangling of keys. “You’ll never guess what kind of hors d'oeuvres were at Veronica’s func… Betty! Hi.” A familiar crop of red hair has appeared in front of the TV. Archie, half dressed in a messy tuxedo with a paper bag on his arm, is staring at their little layout in bewilderment. No amount of film studies are needed to predict how  _ this _ scene is going to go.

“Hey,” says Betty politely. She's blushing deeply, although Jughead wonders whether it's from embarrassment or the fact that it's  _ Archie _ , classically handsome, with a smile to make admirers swoon. Then Jughead wonders why he's wondering, and shakes the thought right out of his head. 

“I… wasn't expecting you,” says Archie awkwardly. Jughead, ever the conscientious objector, contributes nothing, although he does have the presence to think,  _ Neither was I. _

“It wasn't planned,” admits Betty, still pink. “Um—” 

Archie holds up his plastic bag. “Want a canapé?”

Betty laughs, and shakes her head. “No thanks, Archie. Actually, I should probably go. It's getting late.”

“No problem,” says Arch, still halfway between amused and surprised. “Uh, you're welcome anytime.”

“I'll walk you out,” says Jughead, scooping up Betty’s diary and clothes and accompanying her all of the six steps to the door. (Decidedly not looking Archie in the eye, thank you very much.)

Betty accepts her things with a smile, and he leans on the door frame, feeling weirdly self-conscious. 

“So… I guess  _ Stranger Things _ wasn't that bad.” 

Betty's face breaks out into a beam. “I knew you would like it!”

“Hey—I never said anything about  _ like _ . I tolerated it,” he teases, and she raises her eyebrows.=

“Uh-huh. So you  _ wouldn't _ object if I watched season two without you.” He pauses, and she laughs, bright and clear. “I've totally converted you.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, shoving down a grin. 

“Anyway. Thank you for… everything.” Betty pats at the clothes in her arms meaningfully. “And, you know, I actually had fun.”

Her gentle bubbliness makes him a little braver, too. “It's a mutual feeling.” 

“So…” Betty hovers at the doorway a little. “Don't be a stranger, okay? Or you might find your clothes missing. You forget, I know which washing machine is yours.” 

Jughead can't help it. He laughs. “I’ll see you around, Betty.” 

She waves, and he watches her disappear down the hall. 

 

.

.

.

 

“So,” says Archie, who looks suspiciously as if he's been eagerly waiting for Jughead to return. “Who is that?”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. “Archie, you  _ know _ Betty.” 

“I meant who is she to  _ you _ ,” Archie clarifies. 

“Mildred Pierce,” Jughead says dryly. 

“Come on, Jug! She was wearing your  _ clothes _ ,” Archie says, very pointedly. (Though to be fair, he couldn't do subtle if he tried.) 

“For reasons that were perfectly innocent.”

“The way you looked at her seemed like anything but perfectly innocent. You showed your teeth when you smiled! I've known you my whole life and you know how many times I’ve seen you smile like that?”

“Constantly?” Jughead tries. 

“ _ Never _ ,” Archie says. “Come on, man, Betty's cute. This was like the universe sending you a sign that something is supposed to happen.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I don't believe in signs.”

“Fine,” Archie concedes with a sigh, “but do you believe in that feeling you get whenever she looks at you?”

“I've known her for a day,” Jughead counters, knowing that saying anything else will just fuel Archie’s strangely obsessed fire.

“So imagine what it'll be like when you've known each other for longer!” Jughead says nothing, and Archie picks up his guitar and strums a few loose tunes. “It's up to you, I guess. But Veronica and I have always thought you'd get along.”

Jughead groans, and fixes his eyes up to the ceiling. He  _ hates _ feeling like this, he hates laying things out on the table. Him and Archie talk about movies, the occasional sports game, anything and everything except for girls. But he takes pause anyway. 

“Okay,” he relents, “if I were to see Betty again… I wouldn't object,  _ nor _ would I actively avoid her.” 

And even that feels like too much, so he slips into his room before he can see Archie's smug expression.

Jughead may not have received his ordinary day, but in the end, he thinks that  _ maybe _ , this version was better. 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, bitches. bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.  
> just kidding - in all seriousness, I'm back! yes, I did finally update my name to line up with my tumblr, and yes, I'm awfully sorry for making you wait so long for the next chapter. what can I say - this fic is like good wine. it gets better with time.

_ Please don't be in love with someone else  _

_ Please don't have somebody waiting on you _

 

.

.

.

 

Jughead Jones’ clothes are lying, neatly folded, on the dresser. They've been there for a little while now (three days, but who's counting?) but every time Betty walks into her room she gets the strangest sense that they're  _ judging _ her. It's a silly, thoughtless notion, but the strange shades of dark grey blending into her room of muted creams and subtle blues gives Betty pause. She can't stop thinking about it; about the way she'd felt oddly delighted when he smiled at her, or how easy their conversation had been. Almost to the point where it worried her, actually, which—

“Ground control to Major Tom,” says Veronica, smoothly breaking into Betty's thoughts. “Everything okay, B?”

“Sorry,” Betty says, a bit embarrassed to have been caught in her daydream. “What were you saying?”

“I was wondering if I could borrow your nail polish. My toes are in  _ desperate _ need of some pampering.”

Betty laughs, and pats the spot next to her on the bed. “Here, I'll do them for you.” Veronica beams as Betty roots in her drawers for a flattering colour, and for a moment it feels like they’re teenagers again, hiding from Alice Cooper's expectations or Hiram Lodge’s dirty schemes.

“So,” says Veronica conspiringly, wiggling her toes as Betty begins to paint a stripe of deep aubergine. “What's with the dreamy eyes, Juliet? It wouldn't have anything to do with dear Mr. Jones, would it?”

“ _ V _ .” Betty flushes, just a little, and she hates that she gives the game away so easily. “I've only ever talked to Jughead once.”

“So  _ change _ that,” Veronica suggests.

“I'm not like you, V,” Betty protests, “I can't just call someone and have them drop everything. I'm not a showstopper, I don't have charisma.”

“Hey,” says Veronica sharply, “don't say that. You are just as stunning as me, even  _ more _ so, in fact. If Archie were less lovable, and you were less straight, I'd drop that ginger top in a heartbeat for you. Everyone knows it, babe.”  

Betty laughs, and Veronica smiles, and in that moment of true friendship, she gets a moment of clarity.

“Okay,” she says finally, moving onto Veronica's other foot. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Well, as I know it, Betty likes to play the subtle cards, the  _ long _ game,” Veronica says consideringly. “What if you just… made up an excuse to see him? Use the old 'I need a cup of sugar’ trick. Or you can say I left something with Archie and asked you to get it?”

“An excuse?” Betty squirms uncomfortably. “Seems a little… pathetic.”

“We’re all pathetic in the name of love,” says Veronica, perfecting her melodramatic air.

“I'm not in love.” Betty fixes her gaze on the cream duvet. “I'm worried, V. I don’t  _ like _ people like this, not straight away. I'm a pining sort of girl, a childhood sweetheart kind of girl. I always thought catching someone's eye across the room was a stupid way to fall in love with someone.”

Veronica's gaze softens instantly. “Well, maybe you just never met the  _ right _ one before, honey. Besides, that pining was unhealthy for you. Nobody's saying that you need to be in  _ love _ , just… take it light. Have fun with someone cute, spend a couple of days feeling adored. If something comes out of that, great, and if not, it's no sweat, right?”

“Right,” says Betty, glancing at the pile of clothes. Something seems to click, then, and she smiles at Veronica. “Hey. When did you get so wise?”

“Ever since I started watching Oprah,” Veronica informs in perfect monotone, and they laugh the morning away.

 

.

.

.

 

It's a cheerful Saturday morning when Betty finally makes her way up to 6A with a tiny bag of neatly folded clothes and a plate of homemade cookies. Veronica winks at her on the way out, and Betty only hesitates three times on her way over, which she considers an overall win.

Jughead seems pleasantly surprised when he opens the door at her polite knock, and for a moment she feels a little exposed underneath his smile before she remembers herself.

“Hey,” she says, holding up the bag with a sheepish smile. “I brought your clothes back. Washed  _ and _ dry-cleaned. Not a thief in sight, see?”

“You didn't have to do that,” says Jughead, shaking his head at her. He's smiling though, which according to Veronica is a rare and treasured occurrence. She files the image away and saves it for a rainy day.

“I wanted to,” she tells him firmly. “But I  _ did _ anticipate your resistance, so I brought a bribe.”

Jughead's eyes light up comically as soon as she reveals the box of biscuits to him, and she fights the urge to laugh.

“Well now I  _ definitely _ can't resist.” Jughead accepts the box and clothes with a small tilt of his head. “Thanks, Betty. You really shouldn't have.”

“I wanted to say thank you for everything,” she says warmly. “For the clothes, and the food, and the movies. Veronica told me you're kind of introverted, so… sorry for ruining your night. I guess the baking is kind of a consolation prize.”

“I had fun,” says Jughead easily. When Betty cranes up to study his eyes, she can see that he’s genuine. That, or he's an impeccable liar.

“Me too,” she says, and if she were Veronica, she might add something suave like,  _ Why don't we do it again sometime? _ But she's not, so instead she hovers by the door like an insane person, and she's just about ready to kick herself when Jughead opens the door a little wider.

“Do you want to come in? Archie’s not home,” he adds. “You like coffee, right?”

“I love coffee.” Betty smiles at him gratefully and follows him in, feeling weirdly at home in Jughead and Archie’s comfortably decorated apartment.

“Where’s Archie?” she asks just to make conversation, following him to the open kitchen and propping herself onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

“Visiting his mom,” he says, readying the coffeemaker. “More’s the pity for him, because that means I get all the cookies.” He takes a bite as if to prove it, and makes a sound that is distinctly not PG. Betty laughs.

“You like them?”

“Chocolate chip is my favourite.” Jughead says affirmingly. “How’d you know?”

“It's everyone's favourite,” she points out, swiping one out of the tray, much to his abject horror.

“You come into  _ my _ home and steal from me like this?”

She points at him with a grin, giving a little shrug as she speaks around a careful mouthful of cookie. “Hey, you invited me in!”

“A choice I still stand by.” Which—okay. Is just the  _ tiniest _ bit charming. “Seriously, Betty, these are heaven sent. Where did you learn how to bake?”

“A childhood of social conformities and expectations,” Betty says without pause. Her surprising readiness to share her past shocks her a little, and she blushes. “My mom, mostly. But when I was bored I used to just read cookbooks for fun.”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. “For fun?”

“Don't mock me,” she retorts playfully, immensely glad at how smoothly he brushes past her previous commentary. Some ghosts have to stay exactly that: invisible. He’s still eyeing her a bit skeptically, so she jumps off her stool and wanders into the kitchen with him. “It was actually really therapeutic. Like, okay, um… Do you have eggs? Flour, sugar, baking soda? Cocoa powder?”

“i don't live in a Whole Foods, so no,” says Jughead wryly.

“They're  _ basics _ , Jug!” Betty calls. There's an odd pause in the flow of their conversation, and she pokes her head out of one of the cupboards somewhat sheepishly. “Is it okay? If I call you Jug, I mean?”

To her surprise, he's smiling at her. “Beggars can't be choosers, Betts. I'll take Jug over the real thing any day.”

_ Betts _ . She likes the way the word curls in his mouth, not derogatory or taunting but warm, like an old friend, like saying hello after too many years of not seeing each other.

“And the real thing is?” she asks curiously, delving back into the cupboard as Jughead leans (rather attractively—not that she's noticing) on the bench.

“Too terrible for human absorption,” he informs her gravely.

“Ah.”

He hesitates. “I might tell you. One day.”

Betty straightened up and wipes her hands down on her jeans, feeling strangely honoured at the thought. “Whatever you want,  _ whenever _ you want,” she says warmly. “Personally, I like Jughead. It builds character.”

Jughead grins. “If you like character, you should meet my little sister. She's a five foot firecracker.”

“Just my type,” she teases, and then surveys his kitchen cryptically. “Jug, there's  _ nothing _ here except takeout menus and packets of junk food.”

“Don't forget the ramen,” he interjects, “We can hardly live up to the college stereotype if we don't own any ramen.”

Betty rolls her eyes and glances at him for a minute, biting at her lip. He looks good, but more importantly, he looks happy. Like he might actually be enjoying her company. Veronica’s tips ring in insistent tones in her head, and she throws all self-doubts out the window.

“You’re going to have to come to my apartment,” she says impulsively, “and I’m going to teach you how to bake, before you and Archie die of malnutrition.”

Jughead smiles. “Sure,” he says, before Betty can even begin to worry. “Next Thursday good for you?”

Betty has to bite down hard to smother her giddy little smile.

“Thursday works perfectly for me.”

 

.

.

.

 

Thursday can't come quickly enough, it seems. It's a little silly, because Jughead is just one boy in a world full of boys, and Betty is busy with school and family commitments—and honestly, being friends with Veronica is a full time job in itself. But she still finds herself inexplicably excited when Thursday finally rolls around. They've talked, of course. Text chains and Facebook comment mentions, and occasionally they’ll see each other through Veronica or Archie, but nothing concrete like this. Not  _ really _ , anyway.

“Have you got everything?” Betty asks Veronica, who's currently putting in her earrings and tugging on a pair of high heels. “You really don't have to go, you know. Jughead won't mind.”

“Trust me,” says Veronica in a tone that can only be interpreted as scandalous. “He’ll mind. Besides, I haven't been shopping with my mother in  _ far _ too long, and I miss the Lodge’s trademark exquisite taste.”

Betty laughs and follows the other to the door, feeling somewhat underdressed in a pale pink blouse and grey skirt, next to Veronica’s tasteful pearls and deep tangerine dress. It doesn't bother her as much as it used too, though. It's a side effect of being friends with Veronica, she supposes.

“Okay, have fun, V. We’ll save some baking for you.”

“Russian fudge is my kryptonite,” Veronica says, pausing at the door. “You too, B. Be safe, and if you want me to stay at Archie’s tonight, just say the word.”

Betty flushes, almost indignantly. “We’re not… I wouldn't… He’s a perfect gentleman, Ronnie.”

“Maybe,” Veronica agrees airily. “But you know what they say.  _ Gentlemen prefer blondes _ .” She winks and disappears, and just as Betty’s wondering how she does it, Jughead appears in her place, looking surprised to see the door already open.

“Hey.” His hands are shoved in his pockets, expression a little awkward but somehow confident, too. A weird combination… but a combination that kind of  _ works _ for her. “You look really red. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says with a smile, “I just caught a bad case of Lodge-itis.”

Jughead squints at her. “Vague traumatisation, a dash of bewilderment, chronic embarrassment…. Oh, yeah. I see all the symptoms now.”

“Don't be a dork,” Betty says, squinting at him, letting the affection creep into her voice. Jughead shrugs off his jacket (because of course he put it on even though they live in the same apartment block) and Betty lets him in.

“Your place is nice,” Jughead muses, following her into the kitchen with hands dug into his pockets. “Half  _ Little House On the Prairie _ , half the Malfoy manor. Impressive.”

“Thanks,” says Betty with a small smile. Somehow, Jughead seems to make his obscure references sound like a compliment. “Veronica and I have compromising tastes, but it seems to work. Although I  _ did _ have to veto the whole chandelier idea.”

Betty begins to whirl around the kitchen, pulling out mixing bowls and bags of flour and sugar. Jughead stands, looking amusingly bewildered, and Betty stifles a laugh and asks him to get out the milk and butter.

He pauses in front of the fridge, eyeing a messily drawn stick figure family composing of several blondes and redheads.

“Cute.” His voice takes on a funny quality. “Drawn by… your kids?”

“What?” says Betty distractedly. She glances at him and pauses in front of the picture, smiling fondly. “No. Lizzie and Jace made that for me the last time I babysat them. They’re my sister's kids.”

“Polly,” says Jughead, and Betty nods, oddly touched that he’s remembered.

“Do you like kids?” she asks, and Jughead grins a little dryly at her.

“Only of the  _ Sour Patch _ variety.” He holds out the butter and milk that he'd finally gone to retrieve out to her. She takes them with a smile. “Actually, I'm not sure. My sister was okay, so maybe it just depends on the kid. Maybe if the kid was a regular Klaus Baudelaire type, then we might get along.”

Betty arches her eyebrow. “You love those obscure references.”

“Oh, Betty Cooper,” says Jughead, joining her with a grin and a small nudge to the shoulder, so slightly it's almost imperceptible. “You have no idea.”

 

.

.

.

 

“It's burning.”

“No it's not.”

“It's  _ burning _ , Jug.”

“Betty.” A land lands on her shoulder, surprisingly warm and dusted in flour. She tilts her head from the golden glow of the oven to find something even prettier: Jughead’s eyes. Then she blushes at the thought of sounding like a character straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. “It's fine.”

“Fine,” she relents, straightening up and hopping up onto a seat on the kitchen bench. She's not sure why the worry creeps in. Years of conditioning from her mom, maybe, or just a compulsive need to be completely anxious about everything. “But if it's burnt—”

“Then I'll still eat all of it,” says Jughead smoothly, raising his eyebrows at her. She gets the point. Her fingers loosen just as she realises she's been curling them into fists.

“Sorry.”

“You shouldn't be,” says Jughead, eyeing the empty bowl on the counter. She passes it to him with a small smile, and he sets about licking the spoon.

“You eat a lot,” she says with a laugh. Strangely, she's not worried about offending Jughead. And it's not that she doesn't  _ care _ about his feelings, but more the fact that she's starting to get that he prefers honesty. Also, he's almost  _ impossible _ to offend.

“If you were my therapist, you might say that it's a side effect of growing up with a deadbeat dad, a mystery mom and a scrappy sister,” says Jughead, pointing the spoon at her.

Betty files this information away for another day and kicks her feet like the little girl she tries so hard not to be perceived as. “And if I weren't your therapist? If I were just your friend?”

“If you were just my friend,” a pause, as they both savour the sweetness of the word rolling off his tongue, “then you might say I have a fast metabolism, and a penchant for pretty girls’ cooking.”

Betty grows a little warm at that. Two can play at this game. She smothers her delight and tilts her head. “Pretty, huh? You think I'm pretty.”

Jughead rolls his eyes, but if she squints, she can make out the pink tips of his ears.

“Yes, Miss Congeniality. I think you're pretty. And so, as a matter of fact, does Archie. And Veronica.”

“Speaking of Veronica,” Betty remembers, before she can be sidetracked by Jughead’s surprising awkward charm,  “she’s throwing a Halloween party next week. You’re invited.”

“Sounds dreadful,” says Jughead.

She nods, fingers skimming the bench, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe. Or…”

“Or?” he prompts. He's watching her carefully. 

“Or you could come and keep a pretty girl company?” she offers, feeling braver than she has in a long time.

Jughead cracks a little grin at that, halfway between smug and awkward and bashful, and it's so endearingly different that Betty's weird toxic cloud of worry melts away.

“It’s a date.”

Betty opens her mouth to clarify, but the oven  _ dings _ , and the both of them lurch to action. Next to her, peering in the oven, Jughead smells faintly like men's cologne and new books, which is…  _ okay _ . A little attractive.

“Twenty bucks says it's not burned,” Jughead says.

Jughead loses twenty bucks, but even before they figure out how to cut away the charred bits and get to the edible centre, Betty thinks it tastes like the sweetest thing she's ever had the privilege of knowing.

 

.

.

.

 

“You asked him on a date!” Veronica squeals, several hours, two more baking attempts, and an adorably awkward farewell from Jughead later.

Betty flushes and rolls her eyes at Veronica from across the couch. “No, I didn't. I asked him to your party next week.”

“ _ As _ your date,” Veronica points out. “To a party he was already invited to, by the way. Holden Caulfield  _ never _ comes to parties.”

Betty nibbles on the crust of her pizza. “He must have been once or twice, V.”

“No,” says Veronica very confidently. “Never. Why do you think you've never met him before now?”

It  _ does _ make sense, Betty considers, and Jughead doesn't strike her as the type to party consistently, if ever. And yet…

“Then why is he coming?”

Veronica's eyes twinkle, and Betty recognises that look.  _ Swooning _ . “Because you asked him to, and he likes you.”

“I _barely_ know him.”

“Love knows no bounds!”

“Tell that to any random guy you've met on Tinder, then come back to me if your bank account hasn't been wiped clean,” says Betty. Veronica huffs.

“You're being ridiculous, B.”

“Says the one eating her pizza with a knife and fork.”

Veronica sighs and sets her plate aside. “Look, we’ve had this conversation before. You’re overthinking this. You're beautiful, and kind, and  _ amazing _ . He’s a smart guy, he's sussed that out. This party will be great for you. It's time for you to step out of your comfort zone a little, you know?”

Betty thinks about it. Then she thinks some more, and a little bit after that. “Okay.”

“Okay,” says Veronica rather smugly.

“But it's not a date,” Betty says pointedly.

“Okay, B,” says Veronica, who miraculously, perhaps for the first time in their friendship, doesn't push on the matter. Instead, she turns the volume up.

 

.

.

.

 

There’s a dorky remix of  _ Spooky Scary Skeletons _ playing, a round of beer pong being played too loudly in the far corner, and an array of outfits ranging from interesting to indistinguishable to uncreative. In other words, Veronica’s party is in full swing.

Betty’s got a red solo cup in her hand, she's wearing a dress that's a little on the side of sheer, and her feet are a little sore from dancing, but funnily enough, she can't seem to get herself in the partying spirit.

Then, Jughead walks in. Suddenly, Betty's wondering whether partying isn't the worst thing in the world after all.

She ducks her head and smiles into a cup, and she can practically sense Veronica’s noise of flee from across the room when Jughead seeks her out and begins to make his way over.

“The snacks table,” he observes, eyeing her proximity to a bowl of crisps. “You’re my kind of girl.”

Betty rolls her eyes and passes the bowl over, eyes flickering over his costume. “You know, you never struck me as a Kerouac guy.”

“What can I say?” says Jughead with a shrug. “I have layers. And, let me guess... Daisy Buchanan?”

Betty reaches up to tuck a curl behind one ear. “The one and only.”

He smiles at her. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” says Betty, returning the favour with a small grin of her own. “And Archie is…”

“Ron Weasley,” Jughead supplies, gesturing to the man in question, who is currently decked out in a lumpy Christmas sweater, standing next to a very familiar girl in a Betty Boop costume.

Jughead raises his eyebrows. “Understated.”

“Veronica always is,” she says lightly. “I'm glad you made it, Jug. But you're late, you know.”

“Hey, I can hardly cramp my style,” Jughead points out. “Besides, Toni believes that being late is the only acceptable way to arrive at a function. Or anywhere, actually.”

Betty frowns. “Toni who?”

“Toni me.” Out of the blue, a Nymphadora Tonks impersonator pops out of nowhere, with a bright grin and a lazy arm thrown across Jughead’s shoulders. “Oh, hey! Blonde hair, twice as pretty as the devil, you must be Betty. It's nice to meet you. I'm Toni Topaz.”

“I see no introductions are necessary,” Jughead says, vaguely amused, as Toni rolls her eyes and kisses his cheek. There's a sudden rolling in Betty’s stomach at the sight.

_ It's not a date _ , Betty had told Veronica. And it had been perfectly,  _ almost _ true. But as she stands in front of a perfectly painted portrait now, she can't help but feel incredibly stupid. And a little betrayed. 

 

.

.

.

 

By this age, Betty has seen enough Nora Ephron novels to identify the funny feeling in her gut.  _ Jealousy _ .

But it's a little stupid, and most definitely irrational, because she doesn't have all the facts. Actually, she doesn't have  _ any _ facts. All she knows is that Toni Topaz is insanely likeable, insanely pretty, and infinitely more captivating than Betty, as proven by her spunky hair and creative Halloween costume. They might not even be dating, Betty reasons. But even if they’re not, they seem on the verge of it. There's chemistry there. And God help Betty, she won't be the girl who ruins the love story. She's  _ been _ on the other side of the situation before, and it had left her in tears.

Besides, Betty thinks. It had all seemed a little too good to be true.

“How dare you mope at my fabulous party,” says Veronica, snapping Betty out of her thoughts. She shrugs apologetically, and Veronica’s gaze instantly softens. “B? Is something wrong? Shouldn't you be dancing it up with Jughead?”

“Can you  _ really _ picture Jughead dancing?” Betty squints, and then sighs. “Sorry, V, I’m just not feeling it right now.”

“What? But you were so excited for this, I could tell. What happened?” Veronica’s gaze follows Betty’s to the snacks table, where Jughead is rolling his eyes at Toni, looking faintly blush pink. “Ah, I see. A girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend?”

“Didn't ask,” says Betty, feeling oddly vulnerable as she watches Jughead laugh. She fixes her gaze back on Veronica firmly, who is offering her a sympathetic gaze.

“You need this more than I do,” she says, pressing her drink into Betty’s hand. “Do you want me to pull out the magnifying glass; do some snooping? Us Lodges are well known for being sleuthsters, you know. It's how we get the best gossip.”

Betty smiles at Veronica, swirling the contents of her drink. “No, it's okay. If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be, right? It’s like you said the other week, I shouldn't get too invested.”

Veronica's face seems to crumple. “Are you sure? It just really seemed like…” She seems to think better of it after a moment, leaning up to kiss Betty’s cheek. “Well, he's just a guy. And if he can't see how magnificent you are, then he  _ definitely _ doesn't deserve you. Dodged a bullet, babe.”

“Sure,” says Betty absently, thinking back to borrowed clothes and burnt chocolate cake and  _ Stranger Things 2 _ . “Yeah. Guess I dodged a bullet there.”

 

.

.

.

 

The party finally winds down sometime in the wee hours of the morning. There's only a few people left mingling, and Betty’s a little sleepy, but she grabs a plastic bag and starts helping Veronica out by tidying the place up a little.

“How very Cinderella of you,” says a voice, and Betty just about leaps out of her skin.

“Jughead! You scared me.”

“Sorry,” says Jughead, but he's smiling at her, hands dug into his pockets. He looks a little bashful, in a classically Jughead kind of way. “Just wanted to say goodnight. Didn't see a lot of you tonight.”

“Oh, yeah,” Betty says, suddenly cursing her dry throat. “Well, you know the struggles of the small town girl. Places to be, people to see.” She smiles at him, then. “Toni seems really nice.”

“She's always nice to the pretty ones,” Jughead agrees, and Betty flushes before remembering she's not supposed to.

“Well,” she says, a little awkwardly, “Goodnight.”

“Right,” says Jughead after a moment, like he'd forgotten that was his reasoning to talk to her. “Yeah, you too.” Betty’s just about ready to smile at him and continue on her cleaning path when Jughead clears his throat. “So,  _ Stranger Things 2 _ came out a couple of days ago.”

“I know!” Betty says lightly, pleased to have something to talk about. “Have you watched it yet? I'm dying to, but school’s been kicking my butt.”

“Same here,” says Jughead automatically. “Actually… I was thinking maybe we could watch it together. Maybe sometime next week?”

A  _ Stranger Things _ marathon. With Jughead. Her first instinct is to agree, but she pauses. It almost sounds a  _ little _ bit like a date. “Won’t Toni mind?” she asks, testing the waters.

“Toni could care less,” says Jughead with a laugh, and Betty ducks her head. Not a date, then. Still, she likes Jughead, even if it stays platonic, and she does like the idea of getting out of that headspace of studying for a little while…

“Sure,” she agrees. “Sounds like fun.”

 

.

.

.

 

“Wear your pink top with the collar. Or your blue sweater. No! Wear your floral shirt with…” Veronica pops out of Betty’s closet, holding up a skirt next to her beaming face, “this skirt!”

“V,” says Betty with a laugh, stretched out on her bed, her laptop open to some obscure site she'd been researching for class. “I’m  _ just _ going to Jughead’s. We’re hanging out, not going to the Met Gala.”

“Have you learned nothing from me, Elizabeth?  _ Always _ dress to impress,” says Veronica smoothly. “Besides, I'm positive Jughead has a thing for you, and if it means transforming you to Greaser Sandy, I'll do it without a second thought.”

“He has a thing for Toni,” Betty reminds a little too casually. “We like Toni, remember?”

“Sure,” says Veronica, squinting suspiciously. “And if this doesn't sway Mr. Darcy to his senses, maybe you’ll win Toni’s heart instead. It's a win-win situation.”

“Except somebody ends up heartbroken,” Betty says morosely.

“Well, I am not letting it be you,” says Veronica firmly, pearl bracelet jingling as she snaps her fingers. “Get dressed, Cooper. Moping is not part of the itinerary.”

 

.

.

.

 

After spending so long debating that Betty is sorely late for Jughead’s, Veronica finally agrees to compromise with the floral shirt and some washed out jeans, and Betty feels slightly (okay, maybe more than slightly) vindicated when Jughead smiles at her from the doorway and tells her she looks nice.

“Come in,” he says, jerking his head, and Betty wanders into the now familiar apartment. Archie is with Veronica, she knows, but she's a little surprised (and then immediately guilty for being surprised) when she spots Toni lounging on one of the sofas.

“Hey, Hitchcock,” she says with a grin. “Good to see you without disco lighting in the way. Jug, I definitely see what you mean.”

“What?” Betty glances down at herself, and Jughead hastily intercepts, guiding her to the couch

“Nothing, Toni likes to say things that mean nothing.”

“And with that delightful introduction,” says Toni, rolling her eyes in a way that makes Betty laugh, albeit a little awkwardly. “It’s nice to see you again, Betty. Hope you don't mind me crashing. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“You haven't seen  _ Stranger Things _ ?” Betty asks politely, and Toni throws Jughead an incredulous look—who, weirdly, has his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, ears pink.

“Oh, to be clueless,” says Toni. “Sure, let's pretend that's what I meant.”

“We can start from season one,” Betty suggests to Jughead easily, who seems to snap away from something he'd been non-verbally communicating to Toni. She feels that annoying prickle of jealousy again, and shoves it right away, taking a seat on the one of the couches. To her surprise, Jughead selects the seat next to her, and Betty throws a confused look towards Toni. Neither of them seem to notice anything, but Betty suddenly feels sharply, intensely uncomfortable, and shockingly aware of Jughead’s warm presence next to her; the laundry powder that had lingered on her skin after she'd borrowed his clothes, she feels like she's in high school all over again, sitting at the movies and wondering whether he’ll take her hand or if she should make the first move.

Another glance at Toni and Betty’s suddenly lurching to her feet. “Air,” she manages, fixing her gaze firmly on the ground.

To her surprise, Toni gets to her feet. “I need some too, actually. What do you say, Grace Kelly? Up for some girl talk?”

Betty gets that creeping sense of trepidation, that forewarning of  _ you're in trouble _ ringing alarm bells in her head. “Sure,” she says, with a smile, because in the end she's still a Cooper.

“Sorry, JJ,” says Toni with a flippant grin, leading the way out of the room with a cocky salute, “your Y chromosome fails you again.”

Jughead rolls his eyes, although he looks faintly worried. For what, Betty can't tell, but he definitely can't be anywhere near as worried as she is in that moment, being guided out of the room by Toni Topaz.

“JJ?” Betty presses lightheartedly, searching for something to say as Toni closes the door and scours the kitchen cupboards.

“Childhood nickname. He hates it, which automatically means I love it,” says Toni, pulling out a pitcher of juice and handing a glass over to Betty. “You know, it’s really good to finally meet you, Cooper.”

“You said that at the party,” Betty remembers.

“Yeah, well, it's nice to finally put a face to the name,” says Toni smoothly. “He talks about you a lot, you know. It's really annoying. I probably know stuff about you that you'd be embarrassed of my knowledge of. Guess he likes you, which is rare, for Jug.”

“I like him too,” Betty says honestly, a little flustered, fingers wrapping around her glass. “He's really… nice.”

Toni’s eyebrows raise. “Nice.  _ Nice _ ? Come on, Cooper, we both know there are a lot of adjectives you'd like to use for Jughead, and nice  _ definitely _ isn't at the top of the list.”

“I—” Betty manages, “I’m not—”

“So please, act on it,” says Toni, in a turn of events that leaves Betty reeling. “Pining Jughead is insufferable. But on the plus side, it breaks his poker face. It's way easier to win cards against him now.”

Betty squints, cheeks pink, a little (okay, a lot) confused. “I'm sorry—I thought you and Jughead were…”

“Me? And Jug?” Toni snorts. “That game expired in the tenth grade. He’s… not really my type. Trust me.”

Betty nods, a little numbly. He's not with Toni, he's not with Toni, and yet… “How do you know that he's not… you know,” she says, uncomfortably, hands a little clammy, “still into you?”

Toni’s lips pull into something mischievous, something a little playful and deeply knowing. “The benefits of growing up with Jughead are that you get to learn his tells. For example, he gets grumpy when he's hungry. Mouth pinches when he's angry, rubs the back of his neck and averts his eyes when he's embarrassed.”

_ Cute _ , Betty thinks before she can stop herself. She puts her journalistic hat on and taps on the counter, intrigued despite herself, ears practically on fire with redness.

“How does this have anything to do with me?”

“I've known Jughead a lot of years. I know his smiles, I know he smiles when he cares about someone,” Toni says, voice bordering somewhere between serious and earnest. “But I have never seen him smile like the way he does when you walk in the room.”

A giddy, deep-rooted sort of warmth spreads from Betty’s toes to the very top of her fingers. It might be affection. Or, it might just be a full body blush.

“You don't have any evidence to support that,” she counters, a little bashfully.  _ That's not true _ , says Betty’s inner voice and Toni’s obvious expression, thinking back to  _ you’re wearing my clothes _ and  _ I think you’re pretty _ and Jack Kerouac and appearances at Halloween parties.

“Fine,” says Toni with a shrug and a grin, walking backwards out of the room with practiced ease. “But I'll give you this. When you go back in there, say something to him. Anything, no matter how small, or stupid. And if he doesn't smile at you like you just hung the fucking moon, then… I’ll be damned. He's sold.”  

_ He’s sold, _ Betty echoes inwardly, following Toni back to the living room in a stunned sort of trance.  _ He’s sold, he’s sold, he’s sold _ .

“Hey,” says Jughead, gaze fixed firmly fixed on her as she settles back into her seat, handing him over a glass of orange juice.

_ Like you hung the fucking moon _ , says Toni’s voice on repeat, and Betty glances over at Jughead, at his sweeping dark hair and his darker eyes and the way he's looking at her through his eyelashes.

“So,” she says, drawing it out very deliberately, “I’m awaiting your daily obscure reference, Romeo.”

And slowly,  _ incredibly _ , Jughead’s features break out into a grin that lights up the whole room.

Screw it, she thinks. Screw him, screw everything. Betty Cooper’s sold, sold,  _ sold _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cheese, oh, the cheese. can you tell that I self-indulge on too many romcoms??
> 
> this chapter kicked my butt in so many ways. it was always meant to happen this way but I found it weirdly hard to write. fun fact, Toni's role originally went to Sabrina, but I adore Toni and Sabrina is a little too open-ended for this story, I think. you'll see some closure with Toni next chapter ;)
> 
> also, I listened to snap out of it by artic monkeys while writing this, so give it a go! stop the world I wanna get off with you is also a good alternative, as well as a fitting song for Jughead especially. (with the exception of you I dislike everyone in the room, anyone? melodramatic Child) 
> 
> (side note... last ep got me really feeling those greaser, racer, mechanic, rival gang vibes... somebody write it before I'm forced to. save a soul!!!)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr at [santiagone](http://santiagone.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
